


Ad Infinitum

by Homicidal Whispers (HomicidalWhispers)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, jean is actually a mother hen, mikasa is the worst (best) sister, they're big babies that can't talk about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomicidalWhispers/pseuds/Homicidal%20Whispers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They won't talk about what happened, because talking about it means thinking about it, and thinking about it means acknowledging it.</p>
<p>Instead, awkward silences are only filled when they bicker. They argue, circling each other endlessly because neither will pause to explain.</p>
<p>A misunderstood one-night stand at a New Year's party is all it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ad Infinitum

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a couple of reasons. One, I realized that I’ve never written a fic where they didn’t come together naturally. That’s my fault, because I really do believe that in the SNKverse they’d fall kind of seamlessly into a relationship. I think it’d be a little more messy in a modern day story, because the codependency born from desperation and a lack of anyone else isn’t there.
> 
> Two: I’ve never written any kind of holidays fic.
> 
> Three: I’ve never written anything in the typical lj style, where stories are broken into short scenes rather than chapters. I wanted to try it out.
> 
> Kind of later than I expected to post this, but enjoy!

Jean’s house is easy to distinguish from the rest on the block, even without checking the number on the text he’d sent earlier with the address. It’s the one that’s lit from top to bottom. Even from out on the street, music bleeds out onto the street. They’re late, but it’s still relatively early – still a good two or three hours before midnight. It’ll only get more raucous as the night progresses and Armin hopes the neighbors won’t mind.

He draws his thick winter jacket tighter around himself, shivering against the heavy winter draft. Snowflakes drift lazily in the air and land on his hair, on his eyelashes; he blinks against their chill, feeling them melt on his face. “We’re late,” Armin says, chastising. They’re the first words he’s said in a while, because the way his scarf is wound around his face makes his voice come out muffled and distorted.

“It’s just Jean,” Eren calls back, yelling to be heard over the blowing wind. “Who cares if we’re late to his party?”

“We haven’t all been together in – god, it must be months. Of course I don’t want to be late,” he answers in exasperation. Eren shrugs and Armin rolls his eyes at his petulance. Eren has been in a stubborn mood ever since they left their shared apartment, irritated that Armin had refused flat-out to take the motorcycle in the snow.

The door is thrown open almost as soon as Armin touches the bell. Jean sticks his face through the doorway and smiles wide at them both. That he doesn’t immediately start an argument with Eren is evidence of how much he’s drank already.

“About time!” he says, roaring to be heard over the bellow of the bass behind him. His face is already flushed and red.

“Drinking without us?” Armin teases.

Jean grins carelessly, stepping aside to allow them both in. “Only a little bit,” Jean assures. “I’m barely even buzzed. Here, I can take your coats. Kitchen’s all the way down the hall, and the bathroom’s the second door on the left. You should be able to find anything else. Almost everyone else is already here.”

Gratefully, they hand over their coats and migrate further into the house. Armin looks around curiously. This party functions as both a New Years’ celebration as well as a housewarming, and it’s the first time he’s seen the place. It’s nice and classy, much more spacious than Jean’s old place. The living room, when he finds it, has floor to ceiling windows covering one wall, excellently insulated so that they’re not freezing. The kitchen is all clean stainless steel with an island set in the middle of the room.

There’s drinks piled on the island, everything from soda to wine to beer. There’s food also, the normal pizza and sliders and chicken wings. Predictably, this is where most of the people are.

“Armin!” he hears. He turns to see Bertholdt waving at him enthusiastically. “Last time I saw you, you were ear deep in grad work. What’re you doing now?”

“More grad work,” Armin says, laughing sardonically. “I also work as a TA for a couple of undergrad classes now, though, so that’s something new.”

“Getting paid to suffer now, at least,” Bertl agrees.

Somewhere behind him, he hears someone else call to Eren. He’s vaguely aware of Eren detaching himself from his side, but he doesn’t focus on it as he settles in to catch up with his friend.

He quickly gets lost in the crowd of people. This is his circle of friends from high school and university, people that he has never quite lost contact with yet hasn’t really seen in a while. There’s plenty to talk about and plenty of catching up to do and, with a steady supply of alcohol to loosen their tongues, time passes quickly. Before he knows it, Jean’s yelling over the mass.

“It’s almost midnight guys, let’s start the five minute countdown!”

From all over the house, people crowd into the living room. Armin catches sight of Eren heading in. He hasn’t seen him since they first arrived at the house. He sees, with an ugly lurch that he won’t think about, that he’s with Annie. He wonders if he’s been with her this whole time.

The window gives way to a breathtaking view of the harbor. When midnight hits and the ball drops, they’ll have a perfect view of the fireworks.

“Four minutes!” Jean says.

Armin’s checking his own watch when he feels someone grasp his elbow. “Armin,” the person says, soft and intimate into his ear. He doesn’t startle because he recognizes Eren’s voice.

“Hey!” he says. “Where’ve you been? The ball’s about to drop!” He says the obvious. His voice sounds too loud to him, especially when Eren’s this close to him.

 “Hey, Armin,” Eren repeats. Armin can smell the liquor on his breath when he speaks. “Do you believe what they say about New Year’s?”

“Two minutes!”

“What?” Armin asks. “Believe what?”

Eren’s arm is still on his elbow, but as Armin watches he moves down to the exposed skin of Armin’s hand and slowly strokes his thumb along his palm. “Whoever you’re with when the clock hits is who you’ll be with for the rest of the year.”

Armin swallows and jerks his head in the direction Eren had come from. “Best go find Annie, then,” he says tightly.

“Forget Annie.”

“Sixty seconds! Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight!”

“Have you heard the other part?” Eren asks. “That whatever you’re doing at midnight is what you’ll do for the rest of the year?”

“No,” Armin says. He wants to look away, to break this too-intense moment, but he can’t. Eren’s free hand goes to his watch, a heavy presence. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Eren kisses him, drawing him in to his body. Behind him, people are screaming and congratulating each other, but all Armin can think is that this kiss tastes like cheap beer and like something empirically Eren. It’s gentle and sweet, like Eren’s afraid that he’ll break if he’s too rough. He doesn’t pull away, and he hates himself for it.

It is eventually Eren that pulls away first. He keeps his arms wrapped loosely around Armin’s waist and rests his forehead against Armin’s. It’s too intimate a touch.

Armin opens his mouth, thinking to speak. “You’re drunk,” he could say, or “this is insane,” or “you don’t mean this.” “You have a girlfriend,” he doesn’t say. Instead his mouth stays open and nothing comes out.

Eren speaks first. “Let’s get away from here,” he says. His mouth quirks up into the boyish grin that Armin’s so familiar with. It’s a terrible idea.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Armin lets Eren draw him back from the mass of people and away. No one notices them leaving, too caught up in their own celebrations and merriment. They leave the shouting behind as they withdraw. The moment they’re out of the living room, there’s a palpable change; it’s quieter, emptier.

They’re both drunk and in an unfamiliar place, so they’re anything but graceful in their attempts to find a secluded place. Still, they encounter no one. Eventually, they find a short staircase and go up the steps. The first door they try is Jean’s bedroom. The next is a bathroom. On their third try, they find what must be a guest bedroom. Armin ignores his misgivings and allows Eren to tug him inside the room and shut the door behind them.

The moment it clicks shut, Eren has him pressed up against the solid wall of the door. Armin, taken by surprise, pushes himself back, his fingers splayed against the dark wood. Eren takes the opportunity to burrow into Armin’s exposed neck, leaving soft kisses on the skin.

Armin thinks again of all the reasons why this is a bad idea. They’re both drunk. Armin’s only recently out of a relationship and still smarting from the breakup. Eren’s never shown interest in him before in this way, and more importantly, he’s straight and has a girlfriend.

He licks his chapped lips. “There’s a bed over there,” he says.

He feels the grin Eren presses into his throat, can envision the shape and make of the expression he’s seen so many times. He backs up, catching one of Armin’s hands into his own, and pulls him forward and to the bed.

They land on it somewhat haphazardly, bouncing as the mattress struggles to take their combined weight. Eren, on top of him, laughs as they finally settle.

“What?” Armin says, self-conscious despite himself.

In lieu of responding, Eren moves aside Armin’s suspenders and takes apart his tie. He fumbles with the buttons until Armin takes over and undoes his shirt himself. In the meantime, Eren’s hands settle on his hips and he stretches up to lick his way into Armin’s mouth. Armin’s hands are uncomfortable between their bodies, but Eren seems unwilling to move and he can’t help but to respond.

The moment the last button is undone, Eren sweeps the shirt off of his shoulders. He’s too impatient to get at the bare skin of Armin’s chest to wait for him to get his arms properly out of the sleeves. His arms end up pinned to his sides as Eren’s hot hands sweep up and down his torso. Eren’s breathing is ragged as he mouths at Armin’s neck. Armin cries out as Eren sucks roughly, certain that that will leave a mark in the morning.

Eren levels himself up to his knees, pulling his sweater up and over his head. Armin takes the opportunity to finally get his arms free.

The room is dark, as they’d never bothered to search for a light switch, but this close Armin can make out his features. His eyes, normally such a light green, are blown huge and dark. His face is flushed from alcohol, from exertion. It’s not the first time he’s seen Eren shirtless – they live together, after all – but it’s the first time he’s seen him like this, with the red from his face extending down his neck and shoulders and his nipples perked up.

“God, look at you,” Eren breathes. Armin doesn’t know what he’s seeing, couldn’t begin to guess. Whatever it is, it makes Eren smile and laugh. He leans down and kisses Armin gently.

Then, more insistently now, he falls upon Armin like a starving man upon a feast. Armin clothes his eyes, arches up, and lets himself go.

 

 

Armin’s always been a pretty light sleeper.

He wakes the moment his bed partner does. The previous night comes back to him in a rush the instant he hears Eren’s sit up. He opens his eyes to see Eren cradling his head in his hands; whether it’s a gesture of regret or to stave off the headache of a hangover, Armin can’t tell.

Eren peeks at Armin’s body next to him. Armin, for reasons he can’t name, shuts his eyes quickly, heart hammering in his chest.

“Fuck,” Eren whispers. Armin’s heart clenches as Eren stumbles out of the bed and begins to search for his clothes, moving quietly and stealthily so as to not wake his bedfellow. Armin watches him find his trousers on the floor, watches him pull back on the ridiculous holiday sweater. It had been one of Armin’s gifts to him on Christmas a few days past. It was a gaudy shade of red, covered in green reindeers and star-shaped snowflakes. It had been intended as a joke, but Eren had loved it immediately.

He bends down to tie his shoes and then he’s out of the door with barely a backwards glance.

For a moment, Armin stays still. Then, slowly, he pulls himself to sit upright. He presses his palms into his eyes, rubbing until he sees spots behind his closed lids. He wants to punch something. Instead, he gets up and heads for the bathroom he remembers finding last night. He doesn’t want to run into Eren, but he doesn’t worry about that – he’s sure that Eren is long gone by now.

He uses the bathroom and then washes his hands. There’s a mirror taking up the wall above the sink. As he looks into it, he can barely recognize himself. His hair is wild and ruffled in a way that sleep alone could not produce. There’s a livid red bruise on his neck that his shirt, wrinkled, doesn’t cover.

He tries to stop thinking about last night, about Eren, but the memory is stubborn in his mind. He remembers everything in startling detail, every wanton moan he’d uttered and the exact path Eren’s hands had traced on his body. He’d always had stellar memory, after all, and not even liquor is able to dull that.

He goes downstairs and picks his way through the leftover mess from the party until he reaches the kitchen. Jean and Marco, sitting at the table, look up at his appearance. Their conversation has obviously been cut short by his arrival. He hesitates, having not expected them.

“Got an extra toothbrush?” he ventures finally.

Jean cracks into a grin. “That’s just like you, isn’t it?” he says. “I bet you’re going crazy, that dirty. Here, I’ll find you a towel also so you can shower.”

“Thanks,” Armin answers, and both Jean and Marco smile at his palpable relief.

“I’ll try to whip something up for breakfast,” Marco says. “Something greasy, maybe, for our headaches.”

“You’re an angel, babe,” Jean says and ushers Armin back out of the room. Armin showers and brushes his teeth. He splashes water onto his face and drags a comb he finds in one of the bathroom drawers through his hair. He gets redressed in his dirty clothes, shoving the bowtie into his pocket and not bothering to pull his suspenders over his shoulders. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows before going back downstairs.

He sits at the table quietly while Marco serves breakfast. Jean pours him a glass of champagne. “There’s plenty left over from last night. We brought it out after midnight, but you were already gone by then.”

“I’m drinking champagne out of a foam cup,” he says, scrubbing at his face again. “Great.”

“If it helps, one night stand is a good luck on you,” Jean offers. Marco punches him. “What? It’s not like we didn’t all know, what with Yeager sneaking out like he thinks he’s stealthy.”

“No,” Armin says hollowly. “I guess you’re right, aren’t you?”

“Typical of him,” Jean mutters. “Getting laid in my house before I even get to christen the place. Still, you move on quick, don’t you?”

“You’re one to talk,” Armin snaps back before he can stop the words. Marco pales and Jean looks away. “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m happy for you two. Me and Jean, we both agreed it wasn’t working, right?”

“Right,” Jean agrees setting a reassuring hand on Marco’s knee.

It’s a bit of a sore spot for the three of them. Jean and Armin had been together for nearly two years, in a kind of pseudo relationship. Jean had accused Armin of wanting Eren more than him in constant fits of jealousy. At the same time, he had spent the last six months of their relationship double timing Armin and Marco. When the truth had finally come out, Armin and Jean had split amicably. Within days, Marco and Jean had started dating. Only a few weeks later, they’d started living together.

“How’d you get such a nice place, anyway?” Armin asks to change the topic.

“My old man left it for me. Never knew the bastard, but apparently I was his only kid so everything went to me,” Jean says, seizing the change immediately. “I’m fucking rich.”

“And of course you waste your money throwing parties and buying cheap champagne,” Marco adds, not without some fondness.

“Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t, babe,” he answers easily.

Armin really doesn’t resent them, but he still finds it awkward to be around them. He finishes his meal and begins to make his excuses. Neither try to stop him, but Jean gets up to walk him to the door.

“So, Yeager, huh,” Jean says as Armin retrieves his coat. “You did want him, after all.”

Armin huffs hair out of his face as he tugs on the coat’s zipper. “Don’t even start,” he warns. “It’s not your business anymore.”

“Hey, I know that,” Jean answers. He pulls Armin into a one-armed hug. “Still, if he needs a kick in the ass, call me.”

“You’ll be the first,” Armin promises.

“Wasn’t he supposed to be your ride?”

“We both took the subway, so stop nagging already.” Armin smiles as he steps outside. “Later.” He hears the thud of the door shut behind him as he walks away, heading for the closest train station. The snow has stuck to the ground, but it isn’t too much and it isn’t icy. The air is crisp and refreshing – winter had always been his favorite season.

He makes it home in good time. He sees the bike parked under its protective cover, a good indicator that Eren’s in. He enters cautiously, but he needn’t have worried. Eren’s sequestered away in his bedroom, likely sleeping away the remnants of his hangover.

Because Armin’s a nice person despite how slighted he feels, he leaves the bottle of aspirin out on the counter along with a glass of water. Then he heads to his own bedroom and shuts the door behind him.

Armin is the kind of person that can’t go back to sleep once he’s up. He has plenty that he needs to be doing – grading papers, working on his own thesis, for example. But school’s technically on break and he might have just ruined his relationship with his best friend. He’s regretful and hungover and unhappy; he’s not in the mood to be productive.

Instead he picks up a book he’d bought a few months back on recommendation and had never gotten a chance to start. He curls up on his bed and reads.

It’s the first time in a long while that he’s had the time to just read. At first it’s honestly a bit difficult to sit still for so long, but the recommendation had been a sound one. All too soon, he falls into the novel’s world and becomes lost to the passing of time. He only emerges when his stomach starts to rumble.

Absently, nose still buried in the book, he wanders out into the kitchen. He starts to go through the motions of making a sandwich. He pops two slices of bread into the toaster and sets up the rest of the ingredients on the counter. Then he sets the kettle to boil for some tea.

He’s just finished and settled around the table when Eren stumbles out of his room. Armin freezes, staring wide-eyed and cursing their timing.

“Hey,” Eren says. He reaches for the glass and pills that Armin had left out earlier.

“Hey yourself,” Armin says back automatically.

Eren looks at the table hopefully. “Is there anything for me?”

“I could be persuaded to make something if you go shower,” Armin answers. He wrinkles his nose for emphasis. “You smell.”

He grins, achingly familiar. “Can’t help it, I had a long night.” He goes still, looking at Armin like he’s said something terrible.

Armin struggles not to react or scare him off. Instead he raises his eyebrows. “Deal?” he asks.

“Deal,” Eren answers, and he turns to leave.

The moment he’s out of sight, Armin takes a deep breath. That hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected. He’d half-expected Eren to flat out avoid him. It’s obvious that Eren regrets what had happened, but it doesn’t seem like he’s letting that affect them. There’d been a brief moment of awkwardness, but they’d circumvented that nicely. Now, all they have to do is keep that up until they both forget about it.

Armin huffs as he shuffles around to make another sandwich. As if he could forget that.

By the time Eren returns, yawning hugely, there’s a plate waiting for him around the table. He’s in flannel bottoms and a long-sleeved top. He could be cold – it’s winter, after all – but two days ago he would’ve been satisfied just in his underwear. Armin wonders if he’s the one reading into this too much, but then Eren tugs at the wrist of the shirt uncomfortably, steadfastly avoiding Armin’s eyes.

“Thanks,” he says.

Armin nods absently. He tucks his feet under himself and sets the book on the table, reading while he eats. It’s not that unusual for him to do so, but right now it feels like he’s being purposefully avoidant. He can’t get comfortable in Eren’s presence the way he used to be able to. He wonders if Eren feels the discomfort too.

“So, when does class start back up for you?” Eren asks when most of his food is cleared.

“Not for another week and a half,” he answers. “Fortunate, considering I’ve yet to do any actual work. How about you?”

He shrugs lazily, picking at the leftover crust of his sandwich. Armin knows he hates them and leaves them on purposefully, just to watch him scowl and pick them off like a child.

“The gym is only closed for New Year’s itself, so I’ll have to go in tomorrow morning,” he says. “But I don’t have any one-on-one sessions for another few days. You know how people are, getting lazy and fat after every holiday.”

“Speaking from one of those lazy people, I resent that,” Armin says, laughing.

“Nah, you still look good,” Eren says and they both look across the table at each other for a moment, silent.

It’s like playing a game of Minesweeper, trying desperately to avoid any landmines and failing miserably. It’s like every other comment, no matter what the topic, keeps reminding them of last night. Each time they start to have something resembling a normal conversation, they step on a mine and the whole game starts all over.

 

 

“Need me to drop you off?” Eren asks, pressing a thermos full of coffee into Armin’s hands.

Armin turns on Eren with pleading eyes. “Would you? I know you don’t have to leave for a while, so I’d get it if you don’t want to.”

“I’m dressed already,” he points out. “May as well.”

“Thanks,” Armin says. “Have you seen my keys?”

“Next to the TV, instead of in the bowl we bought specifically because you keep losing them. Also, you’re forgetting your weird math textbook on the table, and you haven’t brushed your hair yet.”

“You are a lifesaver,” Armin says with wild eyes as he dashes back to his room.

“Uh-huh,” Eren says, amused.

Despite being fast to wake, Armin’s never been a morning person. He usually ends up leaving a trail of disaster behind him as he gets ready. More often than not, he leaves something important behind. Eren, on the other hand, is unflappable, the kind of person that wakes with the sun without the aid of a clock.

The snow has finally melted, so once Armin’s as ready as he’s going to get, he gets on the back of Eren’s bike. He never speaks to Eren while he’s driving, afraid to cause him to lose concentration. Instead he holds on tight, trying to hang on to both Eren and his coffee at the same time.

Eren pulls up to a stop inside the university square. “Thanks again,” Armin says as he gets off the bike. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Eren says. “I can’t pick you up today, though. Annie wants to see a movie.”

“Yeah?” Armin asks casually, ignoring the way his stomach has twisted itself into knots. “Which one?”

“The zombie one. Or maybe it was the apocalypse one. I don’t really know, she was the one who picked it out.”

“Apocalyptic zombies?” Armin suggests. “The two do tend to go together.”

He snorts. “Wouldn’t be surprised. It sounds like a load of bullshit, though knowing her she just wants to see it to laugh at the graphics.”

“Professor?”

“Anyway, I’ll be fine taking the subway. Want me to grab some takeout on the way in?”

“Sounds good,” Eren says. He nods behind Armin. “I think that girl’s trying to talk to you.”

Armin turns around, catching sight of one of the students from his Intro to Biology course. “Oh! Eleanor, wasn’t it?”

She smiles and nods, her red curls bouncing with the motion. “Yes. Sorry to interrupt, Professor.”

“Professor?” he asks, bewildered. “Hardly, I’m just a TA. Just call me Armin.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Armin,” she tries again. “It’s just I was hoping I could talk to you about the latest assignment? I know you have office hours, but I won’t be able to make it to any of those before it’s due.”

“Of course,” he says. He checks his watch. “I have a class, so now’s not a good time. How about at 12:30, are you free then?”

She nods in relief. “Thanks so much. Where should I meet you?”

“I won’t be in the office, but I can make sure I’m in the the library anytime from noon to two. Come by any time between then and find me, I’ll help.”

“Great!” Eleanor says. “I’ll definitely stop by.” She hurries away.

“Sounds like someone has a crush on the hot young teacher,” Eren says, drawing Armin’s attention back to him. “She’s only, what, three years younger? You could totally go for it.”

“Shut up,” Armin says, equal parts embarrassed and amused. “Anyway, it’s not like anything would happen between me and her.”

“Oh. Right.” Eren coughs and looks away. “Chinese, then?”

“I’ll get your usual. If you want anything else, just text,” Armin confirms. He takes a step back so he’s properly on the curb. Eren lifts a hand and waves before restarting the motorcycle and taking off.

Armin sighs. He readjusts the bag on his back and takes a hot gulp of his coffee. “Great going,” he mutters to himself, wishing for something to knock his head against. Reminding Eren of how gay he is – a sound strategy indeed, especially now that the awkwardness was finally beginning to abate.

 

 

“Professor? Professor? Armin?”

Armin’s head snaps up and his eyes focus on Eleanor. “Sorry, what was that?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “You’re really distracted today,” she says. Armin frowns, certain that that wasn’t what she had said.

“I suppose,” he says and peers at the textbook sitting open in front of them, trying to remember what he’d been in the middle of explaining.

She leans forward, her hazel eyes sparkling conspiratorially. “Are you and your boyfriend having a fight?”

Armin stares at her blankly. “What?”

“You know, the cute guy that’s always bringing you here and picking you up,” she elaborates.

“Only when I’m late, or when he’s in the area,” Armin protests.

“It’s most days,” she counters. “I always see you two when I’m heading to my first class. Are you two having a fight? The two of you seemed a bit off this morning.”

“We’re not fighting,” Armin says. Belatedly, he adds, “And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just my friend. My roommate, that’s all.”

“Your permanent roommate,” she adds. Armin decides he quite dislikes this obstinate girl. “It’s okay, you know, I won’t judge or anything. You guys are cute together.”

“Be that as it may,” he stresses, “we’re not together.”

“So then what’s got you so worked up?” she asks. Her voice goes soft, like she’s genuinely worried about him. “You were really out of it just now. Whatever you were thinking about – must’ve been very serious.”

“It’s nothing,” he says, but she must see him hesitate.

“Hey, don’t worry, I won’t repeat anything you tell me. It’s not weird, right? You’re only, like what, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-three,” he admits

For a minute, the information seems to derail her. “Aren’t you supposed to get your master’s this year? And you’re only twenty-three?” He shrugs modestly. “Wow. But this is even better, isn’t it? We can totally be friends; we’re basically the same age.”

“I’m your teacher,” Armin says. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“Did something happen over the holidays?” she asks, persistent.

“No,” he says adamantly. “I mean, nothing happened. There’s nothing different about us, and he’s just my friend. That’s the end of the story. Now, did you have an actual question about the coursework?”

Eleanor seems to recognize that she’s pushed her luck far enough because she backs off, returning to the textbook. With surprising seriousness, she flips to the page she needs and points to a diagram. “I was having a problem getting the difference between tertiary folding and secondary folding,” she says.

“No problem,” Armin says and begins to explain. He feels back wrong-footed, but at least this problem is one he can solve, unlike all the others he’s been facing lately.

 

 

“I don’t know what to do with him,” Armin says into the phone. He cradles it in between his neck and shoulder, leaving his hands free to wash the dishes. He hates house work, but Eren always insists that neither of them leave anything in the sink to avoid buildup.

“If anyone knows what to do with Eren, it would be you,” Mikasa answers. “You’ve always just kind of known.”

“I had to learn, same as anyone else. I just happened to be there first.”

“And so you know him best,” she surmises.

“Not when he’s like this! I’ve never seen him so blatantly avoidant. He practically runs out of the room if I so much as allude to what happened,” he says, aware that he sounds petulant and uncaring of it.

“I wouldn’t know how to deal with it either,” Mikasa says. He can tell she’s amused despite the evenness of her voice. “I’ve never got drunk and slept with him.”

He groans into the speaker. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve had a proper conversation?”

“So just talk to him.”

“And say what? ‘Hey, Eren, remember when you got smashing drunk and fucked me while your girlfriend was only a staircase away? Good times, eh?’” He snorts. “That would go over well, I’m sure.”

“Stop being so melodramatic, Armin, it doesn’t suit you,” she dismisses. “It’s _Eren_ , Armin. You’ll get through to him. You always do.”

He turns off the water and dries his hands. Then he hops onto the counter, swinging his legs childishly. “Can’t you talk to him for me?”

“And say what?” She pauses, but Armin doesn’t offer a reply. She breathes deeply into the speaker. “As interesting as you and Eren are, I actually did have a reason for calling you.”

“Oh,” he says, feeling guilty. She’d barely called before he had started in harping on about his own problems. It’s something he tends to do a lot with her – she never judges, and she’s not Eren. “Nothing’s wrong, right?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eren enter their apartment. Eren shouts a hello and apologizes hastily when he notices Armin’s on the phone. Armin raises a hand in greeting and shakes his head to show that he hadn’t interrupted. He watches Eren discreetly as he begins to relax – taking off his shoes and coat, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and ruffling his hair.

“No,” Mikasa is quick to assure. “I got some time off, so I’m coming to visit tomorrow. Short notice, I know, but can I stay at your place?”

“You don’t have to ask,” he says. “Pity you couldn’t be here for the actual holidays.” Eren makes his way over to the kitchen idly. He washes his hands at the sink and then peers into their fridge hopefully.

“Work is work,” she says without any real consternation. Being a professional boxer is demanding and high-profile, but Armin can tell that she loves it.

“I know,” he says. “I caught your last match. You were amazing.”

“It was a hard one,” she says modestly. “I’ll let you know what time to expect me, all right? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, Mikasa.” Then, because Eren’s looking at him and he feels obligated to speak, he says, “That was Mikasa.”

“I got that,” he says. He moves closer to the cupboards and starts opening them at random, perusing the contents. Armin ducks as one of the doors flies precariously close to his face. “Didn’t get to say hi.”

“Tell her tomorrow,” Armin answers. “She’s visiting for a few days. I told her she could stay with us.”

“No objections here,” he says in the kind of voice that tells Armin he’s only half-listening. This will be Mikasa’s first visit in nearly four months – he’d be more excited if he had heard properly. “There’s nothing to eat?”

“Not unless you feel like making something,” he answers. “I don’t feel like cooking today.”

Eren sighs exaggeratedly, banging his head gently against one of the cupboard. He looks at Armin without moving, pleading and inadvertently adorable. “I don’t want to either.”

“I’ve had enough of takeout,” Armin warns.

“So then we could go out for something,” Eren suggests. “It’s been a while since we went anywhere. What about that little restaurant off of Central, we could go there.”

“The Italian one? I’ve had a lot of pasta over the holidays, I’m not really up for any more. How about the curry place?”

“You always get curry whenever we have takeout.” He learns forward earnestly, pushing himself into Armin’s line of sight. He catches one of Armin’s hands and holds it close to his heart. “Let’s go to IHOP.”

Armin can’t help but laugh. “It’s the middle of the night!” he says.

“It’s only eight,” Eren argues back. “And who cares what time it is? It’s open twenty four hours for a reason. We can judge everyone for being there, while everyone else judges us.”

“You just want the pancakes,” Armin accuses. Eren grins and doesn’t deny it. “Alright, fine, you deplorable sugar-junkie. I’ll go get dressed.”

“Dress warm,” Eren calls after him as he heads for his room.

Armin rolls his eyes. “If we’re taking that bike, I definitely will. It’s not snowing again, is it?”

“Not now,” he said. “You love the bike!”

“I hate it,” he yells back and shuts the door behind him.

To be honest, Armin muses as he heads for the closet, he doesn’t mind the bike all that much. He finds it unpractical, being that their city gets a lot of snow and rain. He thinks it’s dangerous, and shudders to think what would happen if Eren ever got into an accident – especially since he doesn’t wear a helmet unless Armin nags him to.

Still, even if it’s not what Armin would’ve chosen, it makes Eren happy. He mostly protests just for the pleasure of saying it these days; it’s more like a joke that the two of them have than any real consternation.

He stares into his closet, refusing to admit that he’s taking longer than he usually would to pick something out. It’s just Eren, he tells himself sternly as he grabs for a hanger. And if the shirt he picks out is one that Eren had complimented him on before – well, the shade of green does wonders for his eyes. Not that that’s a deciding factor in the matter.

After that, he throws on his favorite sweater and jeans. He leaves his room, running his fingers through his hair as he goes. Eren’s already in his coat, waiting by the door impatiently. Armin laughs at the disgruntlement on his face as he grabs his own coat, winding his scarf around his neck and putting on his gloves.

The drive to IHOP is a fast one. There’s no wait when they arrive, maybe because it’s late and people are having proper dinners, or maybe because only people who have lost control of their lives go there after noon. Either way, the place is mostly deserted.

Since there are so few people there, they’re allowed to pick their own seats. They choose one right next to a window overlooking the parking lot. The snow that had yet to melt is piled up neatly where it’s been shoveled. Further out, though, there’s an expanse of untouched snow backlit by a lamppost emitting a warm orange glow. It’s a beautiful, serene scene to look out at. Being next to a window in the winter isn’t usually a good idea, but they’re directly underneath a vent that’s blowing warmth onto them.

Eren picks up the menu and looks at it critically. “Do you think they’ll make the smiley face for me even if I don’t order it from the kids’ menu?” he asks.

“I’m sure they will if you ask,” Armin answers, long-suffering

To her credit, the waitress doesn’t even blink when Eren makes his request. She whisks their orders away and, in no time at all it seems like, returns with their meals. In truth, it’s not that the meal arrives any faster than it normally would; the difference is the way conversation seems to flow so easily between them, making time seem to pass faster.

They hadn’t been able to talk this easily since New Year’s. Armin had almost managed to forget why this person was his closest friend: he’d forgotten how naturally conversations flow when they’re together. Despite how different they seem at first glance, they’re well matched. Eren, with his crude humor and enthusiastic syntax, never fails to make Armin laugh. He appreciates Armin’s dry witticisms and penchant for sarcasm.

“So, what time exactly is Mikasa coming?” Eren asks as he drowns his pancakes in strawberry syrup. “Does she need a ride from the airport?”

“Don’t know,” Armin answers. “She said she’ll text, but I don’t know any specifics. I figure she’ll probably take a taxi – it’s not like you could get her luggage on your bike.”

“Stop hating on the bike,” Eren says, still grinning. “I just thought Mikasa would have less crap than girls normally drag around with them.”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll let us know,” he says dubiously. “I should probably set her up before I go to sleep tonight, just in case she comes in early.”

“Yeah?” Eren says. “I think it was my turn to take the couch, right?”

“No, it’s mine,” Armin says. “Mikasa was in your room when she visited for my birthday, remember?”

“Oh, right. It’ll be awful, I bet. The living room’s always drafty in the winter.”

“Don’t look so pleased about it,” Armin mutters. “You’re right though. I wonder if I could put the air mattress on the floor in my room and stay on that. Mikasa’s not that private a person.”

“Yeah,” Eren says, slowly. “Or you could stay in my room.”

Armin looks down at his plate, feeling suddenly chilled. He picks up his knife and fork, slowly cutting into his omelet. “On the air mattress,” he says. Or maybe he asks. He isn’t certain which.

“On my bed,” he answers. He raises his voice, anger always quick to flare. “Goddamnit Armin, I’m sick of you pretending what happened didn’t happen.”

“ _I’m_ pretending?” Armin repeats incredulously. “ _Me_?”

“Yes, you!” Eren says back furiously. “You won’t talk about it; you change the subject if it ever starts to come up.”

“Lower your voice,” he says.

“Why should I?” Eren asks. “What’s there to be afraid of?” He gestures expansively to the room. “These people don’t know you. Who cares what they hear about our lives?”

“Just because they don’t matter, doesn’t mean I want my business broadcasted to the room at large,” he shoots back.

“Too bad,” Eren says, vicious. “You won’t talk about it at home where you can run away, so let’s talk about it here.”

“ _I_ won’t talk about it?” Armin says mockingly. “Well, as long as I’m the one to blame. What _exactly_ do you want to talk about, Eren?”

“You act like you’re ashamed of it.”

“I _am_ ,” Armin says. Despite his own precautions, the words come out loud enough that the closest couple turns to look at them curiously. Flushing, he lowers his voice and leans in. “I am ashamed, and I’m embarrassed, and I think I have a right to be. Besides, don’t act like you’re not ashamed too, not when you’re the one who snuck out the next morning.”

Eren looks like he’s been struck dumb; it’s not a look that Armin sees on him very often. His mouth works soundlessly, like he’s got so much to say that he can’t get any of it out.

Armin doesn’t wait for him to figure it out. He doesn’t get angry too often, usually the most level-headed of the triumvirate he, Eren, and Mikasa make. Right now, though, he feels livid – he feels flushed and embarrassed and humiliated.

He shoots to his feet fast enough that the plates on the table rattle. He pulls on the jacket he’d taken off and drops a twenty on the table. “I can find my own way home,” he bites out.

He brings his plate up to the front with him. He waits for it to be put in a take-home box, feeling Eren’s eyes on him all the while. He takes the food when it’s handed back to him, nods to the waitress, and takes his leave. At no point does Eren attempt to stop him.

In a fit of childish pique, he crosses through the parking lot although it’s not strictly necessary. He tramples through the untouched snow they’d been admiring earlier. He wonders if Eren’s still at the table, if Eren can see him. He doesn’t look over his shoulder to check.

It’s so cold out that Armin’s feet and hands go numb in moments, despite the lined boots and thick gloves. His face feels burned and chafed as his nose starts to water. Still, it’s not a far walk to the closest subway station. He shoulders against the wind, knowing that it’ll be heated once he gets underground.  His phone rings once. It’s not like him to be stubborn, but this time he ignores it.

Once underground, he feels momentarily lost. He doesn’t want to go back home. He doesn’t want to see Eren when he gets in, doesn’t want to start back up that argument. Even worse, he doesn’t want to know if Eren chooses not to come in. He could always stay over by his girlfriend, the way he had in the past. That would only be a slap in the face.

After a few moments of dithering he ends up on the route that’ll take him to Jean’s new place. It’s a long ride, but it gives him time to warm himself up and gather his wits about him.

When he knocks on the door, he for a moment thinks no one’s going to answer. After a moment, though, the door opens. Marco peers at him, looking sleepy and disheveled.

“Hey,” Armin says, attempting a smile. “I shouldn’t have bothered you, I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Come in,” Marco says, interrupting him. His expression quickly goes from confused to concerned. Armin steps in gratefully.

“What’s going on?” Jean asks, his head a blonde mess peeking down from the top of the stairs. He does a double take. “Armin?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Armin confirms. “I don’t want to bug you guys, but do you mind if I stay the night?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jean says immediately. Marco nods in agreement. “Yeager didn’t kick you out, did he? I’ll kick his bastard ass if he did anything to you.”

“It’s nothing,” Armin says. Then he amends, “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s been a long day, alright? Can I just go to sleep? Please?”

“Sure, man,” he says, backtracking quickly. Armin tries not to notice how Marco and Jean meet eyes above his head, doubtlessly having some kind of wordless conversation about him. “Here, come on up. I’ll find you some clothes you can wear to sleep, how’s that sound? And we’ve still got the toothbrush you used in the spare bathroom.”

“Thank you,” Armin says.

He’s quickly given a set of clothes and put into the guest bedroom. He finds himself laying in bed only moments later, staring up at the dark ceiling. It’s the same bedroom he’d slept in last time he was here. He feels colder now than he did that night, without Eren’s presence to warm him.

He rolls over to face the wall, resolutely refusing to think about Eren or the last time he had been in this room. He can’t help but remember, though. He falls asleep uneasily, feeling small and alone.

\--

He’d known there was basically no way he’d escape Jean’s house without spilling what had happened. Jean, as tough as he liked to appear, was a huge mother hen underneath all the bluster.  Armin knew he’d worried Jean and Marco senseless, appearing at their house at nearly eleven at night with no warning.

He had expected to make concessions and, but he hadn’t been expecting the Spanish Inquisition.

Armin goes downstairs the next morning to find Jean, Marco and, nonsensically enough, Mikasa waiting around the table for him.

“Is this an intervention?” he asks, trying for a joke.

Mikasa blinks at him soberly and pulls out the chair next to her. He takes it without argument.

“Eat up,” Jean says bracingly. There’s a lot of food on the table, a sort of buffet style breakfast. “Made it all myself.”

“That doesn’t make me want to eat it,” Armin points out. Still, obediently he takes a plastic plate and begins to load it up.

“There’s some drinks, too,” Marco adds. He winces, looking faintly pitying. “It’s still early, but it’ll make it easier to rehash everything.”

“There’s nothing to rehash,” Armin mutters. Mikasa had to have heard him, but she ignores his protest and fills his glass up with something out of an unidentifiable bottle. Knowing her, though, it will be alcoholic. He trusts her enough that he takes the cup and tosses it back without questioning.

They’re right: it does make talking about the disastrous night before easier.

“Let me get this straight,” Jean says when he’s done. “Yeager asked if you were ashamed of him, and you flat out admitted it.”

“Yelled it to the room, more like,” Mikasa says.

“After he took you on a date,” Jean continues.

Armin slumps down in his chair, avoiding their eyes. “It wasn’t a date.”

“It was a date,” Mikasa says dismissively.

“We went for dinner,” he says, “the same we’ve done hundreds of times before. What makes this time different?”

“There’s the fact that you slept with him two weeks ago makes it different,” Marco says gently. “You said that he seemed excited when he came in yesterday, right? Happy? He probably decided to do something to clear the air between you two. Something to make his intentions obvious to you.”

“What intentions?” Armin says. “There were no intentions and that was not a date.”

“Why are you so opposed to thinking it was?” Marco asks. “It could’ve been. It fits in the general definition of one.”

“Of course it wasn’t! He’s straight and he has a girlfriend, and he’s _never_ tried anything before that one night, and he had to get drunk to do it!” He says it louder than he meant to, shocking the rest of the table into a pitying silence. “It was nothing, alright?”

The silence that falls is almost painfully awkward. Armin picks at the breakfast; everything tastes like ash. He can tell that no one knows what to say or how to continue. Jean’s got a good heart, but he doesn’t know how to talk about emotions. Mikasa was never one for heat-to-hearts either. Marco looks like he wants to speak, but doesn’t know how to begin.

“I don’t know how true the rest of the stuff you said is,” Jean says eventually, when Marco prods him unsubtly under the table. “But how do you know he’s straight if you’ve never asked? You thought I was before I asked you out, didn’t you?”

“He’s never shown any interest,” Armin says pathetically. “Not just in me, in any guy.”

“Or maybe you just never noticed,” Mikasa counters. “Also, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Yes, he does,” Armin says. “Annie, remember her? They’ve been together for ages now.”

“No,” Mikasa says. “They really haven’t.”

 

 

Armin enters the apartment cautiously. He spots Eren almost immediately, sitting absently on the couch. He’s facing the TV, but nothing’s on. He doesn’t look like he’s doing anything, just staring blankly at the wall. He doesn’t react to Armin’s presence; Armin can’t tell if Eren is purposefully ignoring him or if he’s just too deep in his thoughts.

Eren doesn’t look up until Armin’s standing directly in front of him. He blinks and frowns. “You’re back,” he says, then looks over his shoulder at the door.

“Yeah,” Armin answers. “Came back not too long ago.”

“But you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. I spent the night by Jean.” He offers a strained smile. “I thought we could both use the time to cool down.”

Eren nods. “I’m cool.”

“You didn’t tell me you and Annie broke up,” Armin says. He had meant to wait longer before saying that, wait until the air had cleared between them some more. But he finds that now that he’s face to face with Eren, he can’t be bothered to wait. He’s confused, and he doesn’t like it. He wants to understand.

Eren sighs, but says nothing. Armin sits in the couch next to him rather than in his customary armchair. This way, he doesn’t have to look directly at him. “You let me think that you cheated on her. With me.”

“Me and Annie,” Eren says, trailing off. “We’re not together. We’re on a break, apparently.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m confused, she wants other people, but neither of us wanted to let go for good,” he said. “It’s stupid. Annie’s not the kind of person to cling onto ships that have sailed, but she brought it up and I agreed.”

“And,” Armin says cautiously, “you decided this at Jean’s party. Then you got drunk, found me, and decided you might as well, since you were single?”

“No,” Eren says. “Nothing that dramatic. We haven’t been together for weeks now. Months.”

“I don’t get it,” Armin admits.

“Neither do I,” Eren says tiredly. He sighs again, stretching out to look up at the ceiling. “How’d you even find out?”

“Mikasa told me,” Armin answers tightly. “She was waiting for me at Jean’s place this morning. Apparently he called her after I fell asleep. She then called Annie to get her take on the whole thing and Annie, cool as you please, informed her that the two of you aren’t together.

“Now, I just don’t get why you never mentioned that part. Were you embarrassed? Did you somehow think that things were better without me knowing? It was better to let me think you got drunk and slept with me just because I was closest? That I helped you cheat on your girlfriend a few weeks after I broke up with Jean for doing the same thing to me?”

“No,” Eren says, voice still low, still tired. Armin wishes he would get mad, because he understands Eren when he’s pissed off. He gets him when he’s raging; this despondency is something he doesn’t get. “I made a mistake, is that what you want to hear?”

“I _know_ that you made a mistake, Eren. You made several.” Armin says. “I want to know why you did it.”

“I did it because I wanted to,” he answers. “I found you because I wanted you and I was drunk enough to try and have you.”

Armin pauses, confused because that’s not what he was expecting. “Alright, then,” he says. “If you wanted me, why did you leave?”

“What do you want me to fucking say?” Eren asks. “I was drunk, you were drunk. I panicked, alright? I took advantage of you. I didn’t want to think about Annie and, I don’t know, I thought it would be easier to ignore it. I’m not saying I made the right choice, but it made sense to me at the time.”

Armin struggles to understand that, sitting next to Eren silently. “So,” he says, hesitant, “you’re saying you want me?”

He hates the way his voice hitches up at the end, making what he meant to a statement into a question. He hates how needy he sounds, hates the way he sounds like he’s looking for some kind of assurance. He doesn’t like to sound vulnerable, especially not now.

Eren laughs humorously and rolls his head to look at Armin for the first time since he sat down. “Armin,” he says, fond and irritated. “Of course I want you.”

There are words that could be said, but Armin doesn’t want to say any of them. He feels like they’ve reached some kind of breakthrough here; like they’re on the same page for the first time since the weeks that have passed since New Years. He doesn’t want to ruin it now with more words. Words haven’t been working out for them lately.

Instead he leans over, bracing himself with one hand across the plush upholstery of the couch. With Eren facing him, it’s easy to reach his mouth, easy to slot their lips together. Eren barely hesitates to kiss him back, throwing himself into it enthusiastically.

Eren’s hands come around to frame his face. One curls around Armin’s face, dragging him closer. The other cards through his hair. This kiss is different from the ones he remembers before. Maybe it’s just that they’re both perfectly sober this time; maybe it’s that the tension of the past few days is finally catching up to them. Either way, Eren’s tongue is a hot presence at the back of his throat and Armin drinks it up greedily.

He shifts slightly, trying to get in a better position – sitting side by side as they are, he’s twisted uncomfortably to meet Eren and his muscles are starting to protest the action. He miscalculates, forgetting that his hand is on the couch between them, keeping him upright. He falls forward, knocking his face against Eren’s.

He tries to recover, but Eren shoves him away. “I don’t need your pity,” he says, eyes burning.

“What?” Armin asks, but Eren has already stormed away. “Pity? Eren, what are you talking about?”

He shouts after Eren, but his efforts are futile. Eren hunches his shoulders and ignores Armin’s calls. He slams the door to his bedroom. In the sudden silence that has descended, Armin hears the distinct sound of a bolt slide into place.

He sits up properly, pushing his hair away from where it’s fallen in his face from Eren touching it. “What?” he asks the room at large.

 

 

He gets a text sometime later; the buzzing vibration against his thigh brings him out of his reverie. It’s from Mikasa, he sees when he checks.

- _safe yet?_

He bites his thumb and glances toward Eren’s door, still stubbornly shut. The air in the apartment is still thick, but he feels guilty. He’d promised Mikasa a place to stay while she visited, and he isn’t going to retract that just because he and Eren are having problems. Besides, Jean and Marco can only host her so long.

- _still working on it, but come over whenever_

He figures that’s a neutral enough response and hits send.

- _it got messed up again didn’t it_

Armin makes a face at the phone and doesn’t respond. At the very least, that’ll convey the picture loud and clear.

He checks the time – it’s still only about eleven in the morning. His first class of the day isn’t until two, so he gets up. He sets about making lunch so that Mikasa will have something when she comes over and makes enough for Eren just in case he deigns to leave his cave. He puts his own portion in a container to go, still full from the unhealthy breakfast but knowing he’ll want something before he comes in.

Then he goes to shower and change. Before leaving, he knocks on Eren’s door. There’s no response, but he’s reasonably sure Eren’s awake and listening. “Mikasa’s should be coming over soon, so listen out for the buzzer to let her in,” he says through the wood. The words are unnecessary; they both know that Mikasa has her own key and can come and go as she pleases. “There’s food, too, if you want any. I have some grading to do, so I’ll be back around seven.”

Again, there’s no answer so Armin takes his leave. As he steps out into the biting winter air and makes his way to the subway, he grimaces, reflecting that perhaps drinking so early in the morning hadn’t been his brightest idea. He’s not drunk by any means, but it’s hardly professional of him to show up and teach a class buzzed.

There’s nothing to do about it now, though, so he squares his shoulders and makes his way to the campus and into his classroom.

The lesson goes about as well as could be expected. Intro to Bio is a course nearly every undergrad takes, so it’s not very exclusive. The actual professor only teaches the entire class of students once a week. Armin’s job is to see a smaller group of about fifty kids three times a week and make sure they get the individual care they need.

It’s not easy teaching them. The majority of students are freshman, either overeager or carefully laidback. There’re one or two upperclassmen, as well, the ones who failed the first time around or switched majors last minute. Either way, they’re frantic to keep their grades up and pass or risk graduating late. It makes the lot of them difficult to tolerate. Still, Armin remembers being in their position not too long ago – a benefit of being a teacher so young – and tries hard to remain calm and do the best he can with them.

 These past few days, he’s learned that it’s harder to tolerate them when he’s got a list of personal problems a mile long. The steady buzz of alcohol at the back of his head makes it no easier today. By the time class ends three hours later, he has a vicious headache.

Eleanor approaches his desk after class ends. Even since their first talk, she’s only grown more persistent that they become friends.

“Not today,” he says before she can get a word in edgewise. “Please, not today.”

She eyes him askance. “I was going to ask about the lesson, actually,” she says. She puts her bag down on the floor, a clear signal that she doesn’t intend to leave anytime soon. Armin restrains the urge to groan. “The chem bits always confuse me. But it sounds like you have something else on your mind.”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” he says. “And I don’t want to talk about it. What specifically didn’t you get about today’s lesson?”

“Talking about it can sometimes help. Trust me, I know,” she says. Today, though, she relents quickly. “I really don’t get how sodium imbalances cause neurons to fire. It just seems so random.”

Biology and chemistry, Armin understands. Science, that’s something he gets. He settles in to explain her confusion away.

Emotions, though, are a different playing field. He gets them – he can read anger and confusion and jealousy and desire in other people. He can connect it to situations as they come, manipulate others as he pleases. It’s his own emotions that tend to overwhelm him.

Add Eren into the mix – impossible, improbable Eren – and his emotions go a bit haywire. That’s the way it’s always been, since they were five years old. Eren had punched a kid in the face for punching Armin; he’d offered his hand to help Armin off of the floor; he’d sat with Armin at lunch because no one else would. He’d been Armin’s first friend even though Armin was awkward and used vocabulary no one else their age understood.

Eren had always confused everything.

He returns home to find Eren and Mikasa playing Dance Dance Revolution. The music’s up too high for them to hear him enter and for a moment, he stays by the door and just watches them. Eren’s putting up a good fight, but Mikasa’s the reigning DDR champion and he can’t beat her. Still, he keeps moving, body determined but his face laughing. He looks more relaxed than Armin’s seen him since before that stupid party, loose-limbed and open. Armin had almost forgotten what it was like to see him without tension coiled in his shoulders and his back tight, like he was locked in fight-or-flight.

Then the round ends, Mikasa smirking at her glowing WINNER and Eren groaning at his LOSER. The music recedes to a more manageable level now that there’s no round in motion and Armin steps forward. Mikasa and Eren catch sight of him. The change from happy to on edge in Eren’s posture is instantaneous. Armin can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach, even as he opens his arms to catch Mikasa’s hug.

Eren doesn’t outright ignore him, nor does he escape to his room. He doesn’t want to upset Mikasa with their argument, probably, given that it’s the first time she’s seen them in so long. She does well as a buffer between them for the time being, though Armin catches her look between them several times throughout the night, her gaze cool and calculating.

It’s past midnight when Mikasa finally announces that she’s ready for bed. Armin sends her off to his room, leaving him and Eren alone in the living room. For a moment, they both stand silently, evaluating the situation. Then Armin heads for the closet to find a spare blanket and Eren goes off to the bathroom.

Armin hears the shower running as he makes a cocoon for himself in the couch. He settles in to fall asleep, but it’s not easy. Their couch is quite comfortable, but that’s not the problem. Despite how thick the blankets Armin found for himself are, the cool air still permeates the room and sinks into his skin. Their living room wasn’t made for sleeping in and it’s not as well-protected from the outside chill as the bedrooms are. There’s one vent in the room, but with so much open space, the warmth it provides doesn’t do much good.

He’s lying there, shivering, when Eren comes out of the shower. Armin can’t see him without dislodging the blankets, but he can feel Eren’s eyes on him.

“Fuck it,” he hears Eren say. Then, louder, “Get up. I’ll set up the air mattress.”

Armin’s too cold to bother protesting, so he gets up, still wrapped in the blankets and makes his way to Eren’s room. Eren follows him in moments later, dragging the deflated mattress behind him. He sets the machine up so air starts blowing in. Apart from the whir of the mattress filling, there room is filled with profound silence.

A few minutes later, Armin lies down for the second time of the night. He hesitates, but he _is_ warmer, so he says, “Thanks.”

Eren makes a noise in his general direction, flips the light off, and faces the wall.

Maybe twenty minutes pass. Armin’s been lulled to the brink of sleep by Eren’s rhythmic breathing and the steady tick of his bedside clock.

“Why did you kiss me?” Eren asks. He sounds so quiet, so forlorn.

Armin considers not answering for a long moment, but he knows that Eren knows that any little noise is enough to rouse him. More importantly, these are the first words Eren’s spoken directly to him all night. The latter compels him to respond more than the former.

“It wasn’t from pity,” he says eventually. Eren doesn’t respond, doesn’t move; somehow, Armin thinks that was the wrong answer to give. He tries again.

“That night,” he says. Then he reconsiders and starts again. “You were drunk that night. I wasn’t.”

He hears Eren shift in confusion. He imagines that Eren’s probably rolled over to face him now, but he doesn’t look to check. “You weren’t?” he asks.

“I wasn’t,” he confirms. He feels oddly serene. Maybe it’s that it’s so late, or because he’s still so drowsy. “I had maybe two or three drinks. I was tipsy at most.

“How was I supposed to feel? I thought you had to get drunk to want me. I thought I was taking advantage of you, because you were drunk enough to be willing and I’ve wanted you for years. I thought you were cheating, and I knew I should stop you but I didn’t. And then you left me there, obviously regretful. Of course I felt ashamed, Eren. Of course I did.”

“Years?” Eren repeats.

“Years,” Armin says, too tired to find it within himself to be embarrassed. “Since high school, I think. Maybe before.”

“High school,” Eren says, sounding dazed.

“High school,” he says. “That’s right, even when your face was zitty and you sweated all the time.”

“But Jean,” Eren says. “You two were together for years.”

“I wasn’t going to waste my life pining after you,” Armin answers, moderately offended. “I thought you were straight. I wanted to move on. And besides, I was expecting a happy announcement from you and Annie any day now. You hardly have room to speak.”

Eren scoffs, the noise harsh. “We were friends more than anything,” he says. “Nothing’s changed between us, even though we’re on this stupid break. Makes it pretty clear how interested we are in each other.”

“I’m sorry,” Armin finds himself saying. “I should’ve approached you sooner. I shouldn’t have acted like everything was your fault. Better yet, I shouldn’t have slept with you knowing that you were drunk. God, you were so drunk – do you even _remember_ it?”

“I’m sorry, too,” Eren says. He doesn’t say why he’s sorry, but he doesn’t have to. They’ve talked extensively about his shortcomings in the whole situation. Armin feels a flash of shame, because this is first time he’s admitted that it wasn’t wholly Eren’s fault. They both made mistakes.

Eren shifts again on his bed again. “I remember some of it,” he hedges. “Bits and pieces. How was it, really?”

“Horrible,” Armin answers immediately and both he and Eren snort on laughter. “You were so pissed that you could barely keep it up. You had absolutely no coordination, and it didn’t help that between the two of us, he had maybe a teaspoon of knowledge on how anal even works. It was awkward and kind of painful, honestly.”

“But you’ve been with guys before,” Eren protests. “You should’ve, I don’t know, instructed me.”

“I’ve been with a grand total of three guys,” Armin corrects. “And not all gay people do anal, you know.”

Eren laughs again, accepting his chastisement. “Maybe we can try again,” he says.

Armin smiles, pressing his face into his pillow. “Maybe we can,” he says, voice muffled. “Good night, Eren.”

“Good night, Armin.”

Eren wakes up bright and early the next morning, as usual. Armin stirs as Eren gets out of bed, but Eren shushes him and tiptoes out of the room. He concentrates for a moment and can hear Eren puttering around in the kitchen. He hears voices too. He deduces that Eren must be on the phone, then, because Mikasa likes to sleep in just as much as Armin does.

Eventually, nearly an hour of laziness later, Armin gets up. He heads for a shower to wake himself properly. By the time he exits, Mikasa has woken, stumbling out of Armin’s room in her underwear with her hair a righteous mess. She shuffles inside the bathroom as soon as he exits without even looking at him.

Armin smiles to himself. He’s missed Mikasa’s infamous temper in the morning.

He goes to the kitchen next and starts a pot of coffee so that’ll it’ll be ready when she comes out. Eren nods a greeting to him absently from the stove. Armin nods back.

It’s probably the most natural interaction they’ve had in weeks. There’s no tension, no forcedness about the action. It’s nice.

By the time Mikasa comes out, still in her underwear because she’s shameless, the coffee is done and Eren’s finished breakfast. They don’t really speak as they eat, but this silence is markedly different from yesterday’s. It reminds Armin of the way they were years ago, when Mikasa still lived with them. It’s so flawlessly simple to be around these two, a result of knowing them intimately for nearly two decades.

“I broke up with Annie,” Eren says, apropos of nothing. “It wasn’t really working, I guess.”

“That’s nice,” Armin says mildly.

“Thanks for the knowledge,” Mikasa says.

Eren nods decisively. “Just thought you should know. I need to go open up the gym today, so I’ve gotta run.”

Eren disappears from the kitchen to go get dressed. Mikasa turns to look at Armin knowingly. Armin eats his bagel and avoids her eyes.

 

 

It’s not like all of their problems have been miraculously solved. They’d been arguing for nearly three weeks; there’s no way their resolution would be that simple. Not to mention they’re embarking on this new thing – and Armin still isn’t sure what exactly this _thing_ is.

The thing is that now, when they watch Netflix together in the evenings during dinner, they do it tangled on the couch together. When they go to bed, more often than not Armin migrates from the mattress on the floor to tucked inside of Eren’s bed. They haven’t put a name on it, but the change is there none the less.

Whatever this thing is, though, Armin knows it makes something warm curl in the pit of his stomach when Eren kisses him on the way out of the door. It feels like something dangerously close to contentment, to happiness.

Mikasa’s taken to giving him exaggerated grimaces behind Eren’s back. “It’s impossible to be around you,” she’s complained to him more than once. “Hurry up and end the honeymoon phase already.”

Armin is so high up in his own bliss that he won’t take the bait. Her eyes soften as she looks at him. “Seriously, though, it’s great.”

“You don’t mind?” Armin asks, because it’s been eating at him for a while.

“Do I mind you and him?” she asks, humming as she ducks down to peer into the fridge. “No. It’s not like I haven’t seen it coming for years.”

“It’s a bit awkward though, isn’t it?”

“You’re family,” she answers simply. And then she smiles mischievously. “If you get married, we’ll legally be related.”

Armin doesn’t deign to respond to that, but that only makes her feel like she’s won. Her laugh rings out in the apartment. Mikasa doesn’t laugh often, but it’s a beautiful sound when she does.

“What’s so funny?” Eren asks, coming through the door. He brandishes a bag of takeout like a peace offering.

“Nothing,” she answers, leaving the refrigerator door hanging open as she descends on him and sweeps the bag out of his hands. She peers inside. “Curry again. Armin’s favorite.”

She makes another of the pained faces she’s become so fond of. Eren is much better at ignoring her than Armin is. “You can pick the movie,” he says magnanimously She’s not stupid enough to reject that offer in favor of teasing them and heads for the TV.

“So,” Eren announces later, after the food has long since evaporated and the ending theme of Star Trek plays. “Mikasa’s been here three, four days now and we haven’t done anything.”

“I’ve done plenty,” Mikasa says. “ _Search for Spock_ next?

“I don’t like that one,” Armin comments and both of the others glare at him. “What? The odd numbered movies were awful.”

“Don’t even talk to me,” Eren says, but as he says it his hand finds its way to Armin’s knee, stroking in small circles through the fleece of his pajamas. “No, seriously,” Eren says. “I want to do something, all three of us, before you have to leave.”

Mikasa stretches and stands. “Fine,” she says loftily. “Tomorrow, then? Night.”

“ Night,” Armin and Eren both answer dutifully, but she’s already gone.

“What do you have planned?” Armin asks Eren.

He shrugs. “Nothing yet, but I’ll figure something good out.” His hand on Armin’s body goes from gentle to coaxing in an instant. Armin allows himself to be dragged forward, closer to Eren’s body until he’s basically in Eren’s lap.

“We can go to a movie,” Armin suggests. Eren’s arms curl around Armin’s body, up the back of his shirt. He squirms, because Eren’s hands are perpetually cold, but settles into Eren’s embrace anyway.

“Nah, nothing good out,” Eren says, rejecting that. “I’ll think of something. What time do you have class tomorrow?”

“Early,” he answers. “I can be home by one, maybe noon.”

“Good,” Eren says. Armin kisses him and Eren opens under him, responsive and pliant.

“Let’s go to bed,” Armin says when he draws back.

In the few days they’ve been together, they’ve never _been together_ , not in the biblical sense. They’ve both been too nervous to broach the subject. Sex is what had led them astray in the first place, after all. Despite this, there’s no mistaking Armin’s meaning when he says it. He watches Eren nervously, breath bated.

Eren looks at him with affectionate eyes. “Yeah,” he says, and the single word is both reassuring and promising. 

**Author's Note:**

> They eventually settle out of that dumb honeymoon phase, I think. The amount of mush they exude before then is ridiculous.
> 
> This was really difficult for me. It was kind of hard to think of what they’d be like out of the SNKverse because that verse is so definitive to who they are. There’s no way Mikasa would be so solemn and closed if it weren’t for what happened to her parents. There’s no way Eren would be so brash and violently angry if it wasn’t for what happened –his parents. I pictured them both being a lot happier, a lot looser without the element of their pasts. I think they’d laugh more.
> 
> Armin was the really difficult one to write about, though, probably because he doesn’t have a past as set in stone as our other two main characters. He doesn’t give much away in terms of emotion – in the manga, he rarely ever smiles. I don’t know how much of that is due to circumstances and how much is due to his natural personality. It was really hard to find a good midway between this.


End file.
